The face of Evil
by daccu65
Summary: Crossover between Kim Possible and the Supernatural TV series and a companion story to my ealier work, Family Legacy. Sam and Dean Winchester meet a new ally and try to help him face something he cannot deal with.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello everyone. Before I present you with my story, please let me tell you that I do not own any of the characters 'appearing' in this tale. I don't know who does, just that I don't. This story is not intended to generate profit, it exists merely due to the entertainment value I realized by writing it and I hope your entertainment from reading it._

_I would like to thank two people. First, Captainkodak1 for allowing me to write this story based upon his tale, 'A Box of Cuddlebuddies.' The second is my dear wife, Ciya, for beta reading and doing her level best to keep me in line with 'Supernatural' canon and fanon. Should this story deviate from either, it is due to my errors and not her efforts. _

_That said, please enjoy:_

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Chapter 1: A New Ally

It isn't as if we didn't know the guy, we actually knew about him longer than we knew him by name. While he dealt with the 'mad scientists performing heinous deeds' world, we dealt with the 'things that go bump in the night' world and every once in a while, those two worlds collide. That's how we got to really know the guy.

Perhaps I should introduce myself; my name is Sam Winchester. My brother, Dean, and I hunt down things that go bump in the night. It isn't a normal job by any definition of the term. We were forced into this life when a yellow-eyed demon killed our mother. At the time Dean was four years old and I was just six months. Our father became obsessed with hunting down the demon and he found himself tangling with all sorts of critters that don't appear in any biology book, along the way. Dean followed him into the life but I didn't, at least at first. When I was twenty-two, the same demon killed my girlfriend, Jessica. Dean and I've been on the hunt ever since, facing those same weird creatures and hoping to find the demon.

How do we get by? A polite observer would say that we live of off our wits. An honest, impartial observer would say that we live by credit card fraud, subterfuge and identity theft. The more generous of the second type would say that the end justifies the means but that really doesn't matter much to us. It's the life we've chosen; the hours are long, the work conditions would make a third-world sweatshop foreman flinch and the pay is nonexistent but hey, at least the food sucks.

As I said before, this guy lived in a different world. Back about the time our parents were getting this frisky feeling that would eventually turn into my brother, this guy took his first steps into the 'stop the bad guy' world. Actually, he followed his best friend into that world. His best friend was a redheaded, teenaged girl who could turn heads a thousand feet away on a dark night. This same stunning redhead had also mastered sixteen forms of kung fu, so while she turned heads, hands tended to stay where they belonged around her. At about the time that my brother finally taught me to walk and talk, and was now trying to get me to sit down and shut up, she became famous. Yes, she was the teen heroine, Kim Possible.

Those of you who followed her exploits have probably figured out that I'm talking about Ron Stoppable, Kim Possible's sidekick who went everywhere with her. It didn't matter if she was helping some park rangers tag endangered birds, trying to find a lost cat or fighting some rogue scientist who had built a super-laser, he was right behind her every step of the way. He really didn't have any business going along with her; he was small, weak, not terribly bright and scared of just about everything. The only thing he really had going for him was loyalty. If his best friend was going into danger, he went along, as simple as that.

The thing that nobody seemed to realize back then was that he had kept improving over time. Speaking from personal experience, the more times you find yourself in nasty situations and survive, the tougher you get. In retrospect, I guess it was only the fact she outshone him that kept everyone from realizing how capable he'd become. I've read some of the old news reports; the reporter gushed on and on about how Kim Possible swam across two miles of open ocean, then scaled a sheer, two-hundred and eighty foot cliff to get to the bad guy. Nobody seemed to pay much attention to the less than photogenic guy off to the side, or thought about the fact that if she had just done that impressive feat, he'd done it as well. Sure, he wouldn't do it as gracefully or quickly and he'd usually be whining in terror the whole way, but he did it. The point of this little factoid is to point out that he'd become a pretty tough customer even though nobody realized it, especially himself.

Time went on and the inevitable happened, they were closer than any brother and sister. He finally figured out that she was an outgoing, drop-dead gorgeous girl and she figured out that he was an athletic, supportive guy who had backed her up through some really rough times. Even though the press still didn't pay much attention to him, the two of them got together, I mean really together, in their late teens. I'm sure you're expecting me to say they hitched up, produced a pack of future heroes and lived happily ever after. Well, happy endings are pretty rare in my world and, apparently, in his world as well. She disappeared.

Back then, we didn't know what had really happened. By all appearances, she'd gone for a swim in the lake one late spring day and vanished. Again, if you're a little older than I am, you probably remember the extensive coverage the press gave the worldwide search for her. I won't get into any details, but as time went by with no sign of her, the world eventually gave her up for lost. She had many powerful enemies, so everyone assumed that somebody had taken her to meet Jimmy Hoffa. Anyway, this guy had his brief moment of fame as he led the search for her. He blipped back on some screens several years later when he got married. After that, he faded away.

That is, he faded away from the public spotlight. While almost everyone who knew the guy thought he'd settled down to run a small business, there were still those who remembered him and made use of him. It turns out that some quasi-governmental and private organizations knew just what he was capable of, and kept him on speed dial. Every once in awhile he'd get a call and he'd be on his way somewhere to look into a situation that no law enforcement agency could show probable cause too obtain a warrant. While his name didn't appear on any payrolls, he received several checks for 'consultant services'. It was while he was performing one of these services that we first met him, face to face.

I said earlier that the 'mad scientist' world he dealt with occasionally collided with the 'bump in the night' world that we dealt with. The problem with bad guys is not all of them are idiotic psychopaths - some of them can be downright brilliant. Case in point, a short, German dude who always wore a helmet and happened to be a groundbreaking physicist. Now, I'm no dim bulb myself, having once attended Stanford on a full ride. This little incident taught me there's a big difference between pre-law smart and physicist smart. Academically, I'd run in terror from a nested trig function while this guy could solve them after two pints of Guiness and half his neurons tied behind his back.

This megalomaniac was obsessed with alternate realities and came up with a frighteningly simple idea. By using science, he had already pierced the veil between realities, albeit with great difficulty. What made the half-pint so dangerous is that, in order to get greater results, he decided to try combining his science with the occult. So laughing boy managed to team up with a capable conjurer, set up shop in an abandoned mine in Colorado and the two of them started to see just how much they could warp reality without making the beer go flat.

We'd run into the conjurer before, to his detriment I might add, and were on his trail. That's how we found ourselves at the mine. We sneaked in and ran into a sight that I'll never forget; a geeky looking, middle-aged guy with a flashlight that didn't work. We had the usual whispered exchange of words and discovered his name was Ron and he was hunting the physicist while we were hunting the conjurer. I can't remember the names we gave him, since we rarely tell strangers our real names. Now Ron isn't a very big guy and something about his presentation said 'small and weak'; Dean, six foot one and solid muscle, decided to let him know who was in charge of the operation. He grabbed Ron by the collar, pinned him against the side of the mineshaft and started to outline the chain of command. Dean promptly found out that it is a bad idea to try to intimidate a guy who'd earned accolades at a ninja school. Yes, I laughed, I just wish I'd been able to get it all on video. Payback's a bitch, isn't it Dean?

Fortunately, Dean's pride took a great deal more bruising than his body did. After I could breathe again and Dean finished the breath mint Ron had forced into his mouth (we had eaten at a sushi restaurant earlier that day and Ron didn't much care for the aftereffects) I helped my dumbfounded brother to his feet. We followed Ron down the shaft to confront the physicist and the conjurer. Ron went straight for the mad scientist and his machinery, alternating his time between pounding on the man and trying to shut down the device. Dean and I had just closed in on the conjurer when something came through the portal they'd opened.

This might be a good time to let you in on another aspect of dealing with things that go bump in the night, and that is these things don't work the way anything natural does. It doesn't matter if you're dealing with an elephant, spider monkey, gecko or a moral crusader; everything normal circulates blood and breathes air. If you can disrupt either of these processes, they loose their ability to put a hurt on you. The supernatural things don't work that way; it takes specific things to harm most of them and they only get more unfriendly when you try things that don't work. The second problem with these things is they don't identify themselves for you. You can't always tell a demon from a daemon from a spirit from a…well, you get my drift.

Dean stepped forward and started brawling with the conjurer, leaving me to deal with the…whatever it was…that came through the portal. We had already learned from painful experience, to bring along a little of everything when going against something we didn't have good intel on so I was ready to do a little trial and error. I pulled my pistol and fired a silver round into the thing…no effect other than to tell it 'potentially dangerous adversary here'. It turned on me so I dropped my first weapon, lined up my shotgun and fired, hitting it with a rock salt slug. While the salt didn't harm it, it did tell the thing that I was guessing and might come up with a winning answer if it gave me time. It sprang towards me, barely giving me the time I needed to drop my shotgun and pull out my iron hatchet. The thing swung at me with what I'll call a paw, but looked more like a catcher's mitt ringed with butcher knives. I stepped inside the swing and brought the hatchet down on its arm. Unfortunately, iron wasn't the answer I was looking for since my hatchet just bounced off of the thing. While I had dodged the claws, its…forearm…caught me in the gut, throwing me up against the stone wall and knocking the wind out of me. Looking up, expecting the end to come, I discovered that Ron Stoppable wasn't exactly normal himself.

The 'geek' had already disabled both the machine and the physicist, and was ready to rumble with the…thing. Instead of a useless flashlight, he was carrying a glowing, blue sword. Maybe the bizarre lighting was affecting my vision, but I swore his skin had taken on a bluish tint as well. He let out a bellow that sounded like something halfway between a monkey's shriek and a bear's roar, and tore into the thing. His first chop took off one of the thing's arms and his second strike, delivered with the clumsiness of a professional ballet dancer, hamstrung it. Incredibly, the thing wasn't out of the fight, not by a long shot. It managed to backhand Ron but instead of smashing up against the wall, he executed a series of back flips, bleeding off the blow's force.

Ron's attack had given me time to catch my breath so I tried my fourth guess and tossed a vial of holy water at the thing. The blessed water had an even greater effect than I could have hoped for, actually igniting on contact with the creature's skin. I assumed that the roars it let out indicated pain so I pulled my only remaining vial and started to stalk in, determined to hit something vital with my last shot. Of course it turned to face me and that's when Ron got back into the fight. Before I could throw my vial, he came up behind the creature and decapitated it.

When fighting critters like these, decapitation doesn't always mean 'taken out of the fight' but fortunately, this time it did. The thing collapsed and started to dissolve. By this time, Dean had managed to incapacitate the conjurer with a knee to the groin. Ron, Dean and I just stared at each other for several long minutes, with the stench of dissolving, alternate reality creature making our eyes water. Ron broke the stalemate.

"C'mon!" He growled at us, waving his useless flashlight back towards the mine's entrance. "We've gotta get out of here."

"Why?" Dean demanded, clearly not happy with how easily Ron had 'adjusted his attitude' before the fight.

"Because several government agents will be here in a few minutes," he told us. "And they'll be forced to ask questions if they see us. We have to be out of their line of sight before they arrive. Follow me."

I don't know how he knew where we had parked the Impala, but he led us straight to it. Ron jumped into the back seat and sat there, waiting for us to get in.

Dean and I shared a glance and came to the conclusion that we might as well trust him on this one. Dean climbed in behind the wheel while I got in the passenger side, furtively slipping a hand onto my pistol. Ron started to give directions and, of course, Dean demanded to know why he should follow them.

"Because state and county law enforcement agents have already moved into the area to support their federal counterparts," he explained. "The State Troopers and Sheriff's Deputies are setting up roadblocks, but there's going to be one, and only one, exit route left open for the next forty-five minutes. Like I said before, the cops will stop and question anybody they see, so we have to stay on the right path."

"How do you know all this?" Dean demanded.

"That's none of your business," Ron snapped back, showing a bad temper for the first time since we met him. "If you want to just let me out and guess the way on your own, you're welcome to try."

We believed him for some reason and followed his directions for the next few minutes. We didn't run into any roadblocks, but we did see several of them on routes alternate to the one we were on. Finally, Ron told us to stop.

"I have my own transportation hidden over there," he explained, pointing at overgrown roadside. "Now the locals are going to be more than a little suspicious of outsiders, so why don't you follow me? I'll put you up for a day or two. I guess I owe you, since I was only expecting Dementor."

My brother and I were still deciding if we should follow him when he pulled a scooter out of the bushes. I mean, seriously, a scooter? It looked like something a thirteen-year-old would drive around the neighborhood. He hopped on, pulled on a helmet, and imagine our surprise when he gunned the engine and a three-foot long flame shot out of the tailpipe, making the machine take off like a tofu salesman from a redneck barbecue. It's a good thing we were driving a classic muscle car cause that scooter could really move.

We followed him for about an hour and wound up in the small city of Middleton, Colorado. Seeing the sign tickled my memory and got me to wondering just who this guy was. He led us to a fairly large house in the suburbs and we stashed the Impala in the garage, next to a canvas-covered vehicle. Ron refilled his scooter's tanks with some special fuel before leading us into the house and showing us to our rooms. Looking at the house we could tell that the guy was very comfortable financially, if not downright rich. Since it was just a little after midnight, he fed us a quick meal (and man, could that guy cook!) and chased us off to bed, staying we could talk some more in the morning. I don't know what it was about the guy that told us we could trust him; we just hit the sack and slept like logs.

We actually slept in late the next day, a sure sign of just how tired we were. We didn't talk with Ron very much, which is sort of the proper etiquette among the people we associate with. All of us have things we don't like to talk about so 'don't ask/don't tell' is more than just a way for a politician to please both sides of the aisle. He told us the police were looking for our vehicle, but they should figure out that Dementor and the conjurer didn't have accomplices in the next day or so. Then he set some loaded plates in front of us and offered us the full use of his house. He said his family would return from visiting relatives later in the afternoon and to behave ourselves around them.

I don't think any of you who haven't spent years without a home can appreciate just what his offer meant to us. Little things, like having a laundry room to take care of the weeks' long buildup of funk on our clothes, a shower without limited hot water, and a dry garage to work on the Impala, were rare luxuries. We took full advantage of his offer, doing our laundry, performing maintenance on the car, cleaning our weapons in the garage (it didn't seem right to bring them into his house) before wallowing in the luxury of hot showers. After he fed us again in the early afternoon, I took my laptop and retired to my room, to try to figure out who this guy happened to be. I'm ashamed to admit that it was Ron's wife that finally nailed down his identity in my mind.

He had given us his first name back at the mine and I had gotten his second name from his mailbox. I punched his name into a search engine and eventually figured out why 'Ron Stoppable' and Middleton had tickled my memory. The only problem I had was I didn't know if it was **the** Ron Stoppable, if you get my drift. While I was sitting in my room trying to figure out how to ask him, a minivan pulled into the driveway. As soon as his wife slid out of the driver's seat, I knew it was him. I had a picture of his wedding on my screen and while his face had changed, hers hadn't. At that moment I knew I was a guest of Ron Stoppable, former sidekick of the famous Kim Possible. What really nailed it was when he introduced us to his family: wife Tara, sons Lon and Roy and finally, daughter Kim.

It took me awhile to get him away from his family, so that he, my brother and I could talk a little shop. I fully admit I'm no relationship expert; not only am I unmarried, I haven't had a date for almost two years. However, even I know you don't walk up to a father, right in front of his wife and kids, and say, "weren't you the guy whose girlfriend vanished almost twenty years ago?" Besides that, I didn't know how deep he was into the double life or how much his family knew about it. Like I've said before, we tend to respect each other's privacy. Anyway, he asked us some question about the clothes we had in the dryer. We followed him half way down the stairs before I realized that he wanted to talk a little shop, as well.

"Sam, Dean," he greeted us, once we got out of his family's earshot. This greeting conveniently let us know that he had seen through our aliases. "I take it you've figured out my past, to a certain extent."

"Huh?" Dean was his usual, witty self.

"Yeah," I stepped in, "since we were under your roof, I wanted to make sure this wasn't some sort of setup. I didn't think you were still active, so to speak."

"What?" Dean asked, as Ron led us past the laundry room to a kind of den he had in the basement. It was a comfortable room and soon Dean and I were seated on an old couch, beers in hand, while he was on a recliner.

"My technical man, Wade, used a satellite to recon the mine area last night," Ron explained. "The thermal imaging scan picked up your Impala, so I scanned you plates before going into the mine. Wade ran a check and found that your car tended to show up during certain…interesting…events. From that, he was able to run down your names."

"Is the old website is still active?" I asked.

"Not so much," Ron admitted. "I don't have the time to do all of the things," here, his voice choked up, "we did." "I specialize in dealing with things various governmental agencies can't justify looking into. When that happens, they make sure I have the elbowroom to take care of them. That's why I knew the route we needed to clear the area last night."

"Website?" Dean demanded. "Technical man? What are you two talking about?"

"By the way," Ron continued, completely ignoring Dean. "Wade tells me that the FBI will announce this afternoon, that they have apprehended all persons of interest. You'll be safe to leave, but I suggest you stay here another night."

"Will one of you please tell me what's going on?" Dean growled.

The two of us brought Dean up to speed on our host's identity and past. We then spent over an hour swapping stories, comparing the odd worlds that we lived in. We found out that even after Kim Possible disappeared, the calls for help continued. At first, Ron didn't want to answer them but Wade convinced him he would best honor her memory by continuing her work. While Ron agreed, he decided to do it in his own way. Where Kim had been a media darling, he was decidedly low key. Where Kim had been almost a saint, Ron tended to get dirty when he had to. I noticed one other thing during our talk; Ron still hadn't gotten completely over Kim.

I'm no family counselor, but it was obvious that he had built a happy family. His wife was drop-dead gorgeous and the two of them were clearly smitten with each other. Their three kids were well behaved, when they weren't outside roughousing with either each other or their father. It wasn't until Ron started talking about his past adventures that I realized he still missed the redhead something terrible. At first I wondered about this, since she had vanished about twenty years before our conversation, then I realized that I didn't have any room to criticize. I only knew Jessica a year and a half before the demon killed her, and I hadn't gotten over her. Kim and Ron had been inseparable friends for over a dozen years before she vanished. I guess some wounds just don't go away.

Anyway, sitting in Ron's 'man-cave' and talking shop gave me some hope for the future. After all, if this guy could manage to move past his loss, stay active in the world saving business, and put together a family life that made the Cleavers look dysfunctional, there was still hope for me. He told us his wife knew he went on missions, but she didn't know just how dangerous they were, so he asked us to limit our shoptalk to private locations. All in all, Dean and I were having about the best 'wind down' we could recall. That ended when Ron's oldest son, Lon, pounded on the door.

Soon, Dean and I found ourselves playing some two-on-two touch football against Ron and Lon. It seems Lon had some hopes of making his high school varsity team next year, as a sophomore and Ron had shredded defenses, back in the day. Dean and I found ourselves pretty matched and by the time Lon and I finally convinced Dean and Ron to stop insisting on one more play, it was almost too dark to see your hand in front of your face. Dean and I also discovered that we weren't in as good of shape as we thought. We wound up sleeping like logs again that night.

Ron woke us up early the next morning and told us the police were no longer looking for our vehicle and, by extension, us. He fed us another great meal before taking us by his business, which happened to be a restaurant. Once there, he did a little paperwork and cut us in, anonymously, on the payment he had received for taking down the physicist. He gave us two shares to his one and used his restaurant to make it all appear legal. For the first time in a long while, Dean and I left a town with our bellies full of good food, money in our wallets, and a new ally in the rearview mirror. Our usual exit strategy is to leave a town broke, hungry, the gas pedal floored and a pack of angry townsfolk in the rearview mirror. Do you know that country folk still form angry mobs? It's not like the movies, they carry lanterns instead of torches and shotguns instead of pitchforks, but you get the idea.

Sorry, I'm getting off on a tangent again.

In the months that followed, I researched the guy as much as I could. I really wanted to know how he was able to deal with…whatever it was…in the mine as effectively as he did. What I was able to find out was a mix of rumor and speculation, but that's what I'm used to dealing with when tracking down our next target. I did the best I could to separate blatant fertilizer, so to speak, from possible fact and came to the conclusion that Ron was a conduit of sorts. At some point in his past, he became attuned to some kind of unworldly power. The glowing sword he had in the mine was mixed up in it as well. There were also rumors he'd attended a ninja school. I didn't dig any deeper; he was one of the good guys and he'd talk about it if he ever felt like letting us in on the secret.

We ran into Ron three more times in the next two years. He'd given us the address to his website, along with a couple of keywords, so we were able to contact him if we ran into something that proved to be too big for us. After the next time we met him, Dean searched the Impala from stem to stern, looking for a tracking device. I don't know how he did it, but I think that Ron's tech guy, Wade, tagged us in some secret, high tech way. What I am sure of is that seven months after meeting him we ran into a pack of zombies. We were hunting a necromancer and had tracked him to a small, isolated town in Utah. This necromancer had animated a small pack of the undead and was using them to terrorize and intimidate the residents. Put bluntly, he knew we were on his trail so he set a trap for us and, like a couple of greenhorns in a cow pasture, we stepped into the crap with both feet.

I won't go into details, but I will say that we found ourselves holed up in a motel room with a broke-down Impala, no phone and no cell coverage. The natives went beyond unfriendly and we knew the bad guy was going to send his creations after us the minute the sun went down. There's something you need to know about zombies; they don't take much damage from bullets. Silver bullets do something to them, we're not sure what beyond getting their attention, which is usually a bad idea. The only thing that seems to affect them is nailing them to their grave beds, which isn't easy when they outnumber you. In a pinch, you can try dismemberment, even though it could be rather difficult when they're trying to dismember you right back. We needed help, we needed it soon, and we needed someone who knew how to handle blades in an unfriendly environment.

We needed a swordsman.

Fortunately for us, the City Office Building was less than a block away and had a wireless network. I managed to hack in and log on to Ron's website. Wade was really on the ball because we received an email response within minutes. Two hours later, as the sun was setting and the zombies started showing up, Ron parachuted into the motel's parking lot. We ran out to meet Ron, who drew his sword and tossed us each an axe. The next several minutes were a disgusting pandemonium in the parking lot, as body parts flew everywhere.

During the fight, Ron tossed me some kind of handheld radio. Wade gave me directions to someone who appeared to be observing the fight. While Ron and Dean kept the zombies busy, I tracked down and eliminated this observer, who turned out to be the necromancer. Minutes after that, the same townsfolk who had been so hostile earlier became friendly and grateful. Soon the Impala was fixed and we were ready to move on.

Ron thought that it would be a good idea for us to stay low for about a week after this and offered us his home as a place to stay. Staying with him really lifted our spirits, once again. While he didn't live a hunter's life, his life was close enough to one that we understood each other. In addition, the happy, loving family he and his wife had forged gave us hope. I really don't want to live the hunter's life until I die and the fact that Ron had such a great family made me think I had a chance for the same thing, someday.

The next time we met up with Ron, he was the one who needed help. It was almost a year after he helped us with the zombies and we were more or less marking time, trying to dig up something on old Yellow-Eyes. Like I said, Wade must have had some way of tracking us, because we were walking out of yet another motel room, heading to yet another mom-and-pop greasy-spoon, when a pay phone started talking to us. I don't mean it rang as we walked by, I mean Wade called to us by name and from the phone, right as we were walking by it. After Dean and I got over our case of the heebie-jeebies and I convinced Dean to not shoot the phone, Dean answered it and Wade told him that Ron was in over his head.

It turns out that something was scaring children in a town not far from Middleton. Ron and Wade investigated but just couldn't track down whatever it was. Like Wade said, when you've eliminated all natural possibilities, you must turn to the supernatural. Since we're experts in that field, Wade contacted us.

For the third time, we found ourselves guests of the Stoppables, basing our operation out of their house. It took us a couple of weeks to track down our subject, a spirit. Ron was perfectly capable of handling almost anything corporeal, but was completely lost against the ethereal entity he found himself facing. Our research was a bust, as all of the records were destroyed when the county courthouse went up in flames around 1910. That left us to do things the hard way.

It took us a couple of tries, but we managed to trap the spirit and lucky for us, it was both lucid and talkative enough to tell us why it hadn't moved on. Apparently, it was the ghost of a trapper who had died back in the 1880s. Back then, a couple of kids had gone missing and he was one of the volunteers who had tried to find them. He went out alone and was killed in a rockslide while someone else found the kids. The townsfolk had tried to find him but, needless to say, they weren't successful.

We had modern technology on our side so even though it took us a few more days, we managed to find the trapper's remains. One salt and burn later and there was one less noisy, unhappy spirit making a pest out of itself. In a way, I felt really good about this mission because we were able to help Ron with something he couldn't deal with. I don't know if Ron just wasn't able to perform certain incantations or if the power he channeled interfered with them, but he couldn't contain the spirit. Anyway, Dean and I had another enjoyable stay with the Stoppables; talking shop with Ron, tossing the pigskin with Lon and shooting baskets with Roy.

It was almost a year after that incident before we had to contact Ron again. We happened to be in the Northern Colorado Rockies and found ourselves tangling with a Wendigo. Once again, we were in big trouble. An early blizzard had closed the roads, leaving us holed up in an isolated cabin. While we had plenty of firewood and food, there was no way we were going to hold out against it until the maintenance crews opened up the roads. The only alternative was to try to hike out across almost twenty miles of mountainous, snow-covered terrain, with the creature on our necks the entire way. Fortunately, I had cell phone coverage and managed to contact Ron.

Once again, he parachuted in to our location. I'm sure the Wendigo saw him, and probably was thinking something along the lines of 'three for the price of two.' As soon as Ron was inside the cabin, we could tell something was wrong with him. When we had worked with him before, he acted like he was on the adventure of a lifetime. No matter how serious things were, he would joke and laugh. Now, he was deadly serious. We got right down to planning our next move and I learned something else about him, he could turn invisible.

After he demonstrated the skill and Dean stopped bugging him to teach him how to do it, he explained that he couldn't do much more than remain invisible. It took all of his concentration, kind of like doing a calculus problem. He wouldn't be able to fight or even pay attention to where he was going, but someone could lead him around. He came up with a plan that made sense to Dean and I. Since it was late afternoon, we decided to wait until the next morning to execute our plan. Again, Dean and I realized Ron wasn't the same. While he cooked dinner for us and the food was good, he didn't do it with his usual zest and flair. However, it wasn't a good time for soul-searching, so we kept our mouths shut.

The next morning, Ron faded into invisibility again then grabbed Dean's belt. We stepped out of the cabin, where Dean and I did our best to act out a 'goodbye, maybe forever' type of scene. Dean left, acting like he was trying to hike back to civilization, while secretly towing the invisible Ron. We were sure this would provoke an attack, after Dean and Ron got out of sight of the cabin.

Perhaps I should explain what we know about Wendigos at this time. I won't go into a Wendigo's origins, I'll just say that they roam lonely, wilderness areas, where they stalk and devour those they can find. You need to know that they enjoy terrifying and killing their victims as much as they enjoy eating them. While a normal predator would kill and devour one of us, this thing wanted to kill us all, even if it couldn't stomach all of us. We were trying to convince it that we were about to split up. Since it wanted all of us, we were betting that it would try to take down Dean fairly quickly or else risk Ron (who we hoped it thought was still in the cabin) and I heading off in different directions. If we were what we were trying to act like, frightened greenhorns, it would realize that it would have to move fast to get us before at least one of us escaped. Our plan worked like a charm.

According to Dean, the cabin had no sooner vanished behind them that he started to catch blurs of motion out of the corners of his eyes. Before long, the thing started to break branches, growl, and make other noises that tend to make the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Dean acted like a frightened amateur; he broke into a stumbling run. The beast started to allow him to actually catch glimpses of it, so Dean started to shoot at it. He didn't have much hope of hitting it, although he wouldn't complain if he did; he was trying to convince it that he was panicking. Before long, he had emptied his magazine and made a show of fumbling, trying to reload. That's when the monster appeared.

Again, our plans worked out and the thing allowed Dean to get a good look from a short distance, sort of priming his fear to the breaking point. Dean insisted that he put on an act, freezing in terror before hurling the empty pistol at it. The thing easily dodged then charged with its inhuman speed…

Only to have Ron Stoppable, sword extended, suddenly appear in its path.

Physical laws don't always bind supernatural creatures, but the laws of physics apparently applied in this case; the thing wasn't able to stop. It plowed right into Ron, impaling itself on his sword. Dean later told me that he got one good look at a very shocked expression on a wendigo's face before it and Ron tumbled by him in a confused mass of flailing arms, legs, growls and profanity. Ron apparently attains superhuman strength and speed when he starts channeling his otherworldly power, so he could actually match the thing physically. When you add the fact that the Wendigo had a couple feet of mystic steel in its gullet, you can understand why the following fight wasn't really that much of a fight, after all.

The short fight did, however, confirm that something was wrong with Ron. The two combatants tumbled over a couple of times before Ron wound up on top of the thing. The ninja yanked his blade out of the monster's chest with a savage twist and hacked down on its head, splitting it from crown to chin. Later, Dean told me that he didn't know if he was more scared of Ron or the Wendigo.

Ron got control of his temper fairly quickly and asked Dean how to deal with the monster's remains. The only way to make sure that a Wendigo is dead, even after cleaving its head open, is to burn it. The two of them threw it on a large pile of wood and Dean shot it with a couple of signal flares before standing upwind of the beast. The two joined up with me while Wade managed to arrange for a local National Guard unit, equipped with Chinook helicopters, to perform a practice extraction. We were kind enough to volunteer the Impala as a stand in for a humvee. Before long, the Impala's tires were back on plowed asphalt and we received another shock; Ron neither invited us to stay with him nor asked us for a ride home. He simply shook our hands and said Wade would scare up a ride for him.

I want you to understand that we weren't exactly prying with what we did next. While we respect a fellow hunter's privacy and we had come to view Ron as a fellow hunter, we tend to look out for unexplained changes. When a member of our odd community changes his behavior, it might mean one of the things he'd been hunting managed to get a hold of him. Ron was no longer the happy, friendly man he had been since we met him. His aloofness, coupled with the savage way he finished off the Wendigo, convinced us that something was wrong in his life. We did what we thought was the right thing. We snooped.

We waited a few days then dropped by his house for an unannounced visit. While the house was the same, the family wasn't. The two younger children, Roy and Kim, acted just like they had during our previous visits. However, there was clearly some poorly concealed animosity between Tara, Ron and Lon. While Ron was coldly polite to us, he made it clear he would be happier if we moved on. We didn't even attempt to stay the night with them. We took a room at the Middleton Motor Lodge and discussed what we should do next. We argued about what to do for over an hour before the phone rang. I answered, expecting to hear the manager telling us to quiet down. I was completely shocked when I found myself talking to Wade. I still remember the conversation. I didn't even say hello before he started talking.

"Sam," he said, leaving me wondering how he knew I, and not Dean, had answered the phone. "Have you and Dean noticed something funny with Ron?"

"Like he's cold and surly, rather than friendly and joking?" I answered. I'd decided that I didn't want to know how Wade knew who had picked up.

"Exactly, it started a couple of months ago, around the beginning of November. One day he's happy go lucky and the next…he's not."

"So it wasn't gradual?" I asked.

"No," Wade replied. "I talk to him every day. I can't tell you the exact day I noticed how…angry…Ron had become, since not all of our conversations last very long. We talk a great deal before and after his missions, so I can tell you he took a mission on the seventeenth of October and he was the same guy he's been for years. He took another one on the eighth of November and he was…like you see him now. I've tried to get him to tell me why, but he's not saying anything."

"This mission in October, " I started to ask; only to have him interrupt me.

"I'd rather not talk about this over an unsecured line," he told me. "I recently spoke to someone who asked to discuss the matter with you. Please meet with her, she'll be at your door in ten minutes. Call me if you need my assistance."

I'll admit that after bringing Dean up to speed, the two of us wasted most of the time simply staring at each other dumbfounded. The hesitant knock on the door was both a shock and a relief. We shared a look, knowing that whatever had affected Ron could be a tall order to deal with. I got up and opened the door, revealing…

Tara Stoppable!

I managed to scrape together something resembling manners and offered her both a seat and a cup of coffee. She accepted he chair but declined the coffee. After a hesitant start, she got right to the point.

"I understand that you two take care of…things that aren't exactly normal," she prompted us.

"Yes," Dean replied. "There are such things as ghosts and ghouls. We deal with them when we find them."

"Do you do so under the radar?" She asked. "In other words, do you do it without letting anybody know what you're up to?"

"We'd be in the loony bin if we didn't," Dean quipped back. "If someone knew that we were out trying to eliminate a vampire, we'd wind up in padded cells and injected full of happy juice."

Instead of being insulted, Tara looked relieved. "I need your services," she declared. "I have a problem with someth…someone who isn't alive anymore."

Dean and I shared a look. This was the type of thing we could deal with and who knew, maybe it would take care of whatever was bothering Ron.

"This apparition," I prompted her, "what does it look like and where does it appear?"

"I don't know what you'd call her," Tara answered. "Since I don't know the names for such things. She looks like a walking corpse, she can talk and she's incredibly strong. As to where she's at, she's trapped in an old cistern in our backyard."

"Do you know how she got there?" Dean asked. "Knowing her identity could help us elimin…"

"Her name is Kim Possible," Tara snapped, tears pouring out of her eyes. "She's been in there since she disappeared, over twenty years ago."

Tara looked at the two of us. Her eyes, although bloodshot and streaming tears, were steady as she said, "I know this because I'm the one who killed her."

* * *

_A/N:_

_This story takes place during my tale, 'Family Legacy'. I hope to provide enough detail so that you can enjoy this story without reading this earlier work. However, 'Family Legacy' and 'A Box of Cuddlebuddies', by Captainkodak1, contain further details that may make this story more enjoyable._

_Thank you for reading and, until my next update, best wishes;_

_daccu65_


	2. The Face of Evil

Chapter 2: The Face of Evil

One lesson my brother and I have learned over the years is that evil doesn't always look evil. The only problem is, we seem to need to relearn this lesson over and over again. Case in point, Tara Stoppable. When we first met her, almost two years before finding out what she had done, we would have never guessed she was capable of such actions. Even when she confessed that she killed Kim Possible, we were expecting to hear about an accident, followed by a panicked teenaged girl hiding the evidence.

When she told us she'd trapped the heroine, her friend, in the cistern and left her there to die, we were dumbstruck.

Like I said, we would have never believed that she could do such a thing. It wasn't simply a case of Tara being pretty. Trust me, we've gotten to the point that we get nervous whenever we encounter a woman who looks like she should be on the cover of the swimsuit issue. That's caused more than a little speculation about us, but I digress. The point is, Tara was one of the kindest, friendliest souls we'd ever encountered. Seeing her interact with family, friends and neighbors had convinced us that Ron Stoppable was the luckiest man on the face of the planet. Seeing the way Ron acted around her told us that he agreed with us.

I had to ask, "Mrs. Stoppable?" Has something happened with this situation recently? I mean, we've noticed that Ron has become more aggressive and less humorous, could this have something to do with it?"

"It has everything to do with it," Tara sobbed back. "This past Halloween, Kim escaped for a short time. Actually my son, Lon, released her. He heard scraping sounds coming from inside the cistern and assumed some animal had burrowed in and gotten trapped." Tara barked out a humorless laugh, "one of my eccentricities is that I don't like my children near the old cistern. Knowing this, Lon waited until Ron was at the medical center's fundraiser and I was handing out candy. That left him alone to open the thing. I guess I interrupted him just as he opened the lid, so Kim was able to sneak out without anyone noticing. I don't know exactly where she went but from what Ron said she visited her…her parents' home before returning to mine."

"She went to my daughter's room," Tara continued, "the same room I had as a teenager, when Kim and I were friends. When she escaped, she hadn't known how much time had passed – she hadn't even known she was dead. She came after me once she figured it out. Kim wanted to kill me, to even the score but Ron interrupted. When he saw that…thing about to strangle me he swung his magic sword and knocked her back, yelling at her to get away from his wife. When Kim realized that we were married, she went from shocked too completely and utterly furious. I've never seen anything so angry, I could literally feel the hate flowing out of her. She demanded to know why Ron betrayed her by marrying her murderer. That's when Ron realized the monster he was fighting was…Kim."

"Is that when you told Ron how you killed her?" I prompted.

Tara shook her head, "that was no time for explanations. He got the full story later. Almost as soon as he realized he was fighting Kim, Lon showed up. Kim realized he was our son and remembered that she had been in a girl's room. That's when she…she…" Tara struggled to force the story out. It wasn't hard for Dean and I to figure out what she was going to say next.

"She threatened to kill our children!" Tara finally blurted out. "She said since I had gained a husband and children by killing her, she'd take them away from me! She doesn't just want me dead, she want's my kids dead first!"

"What happened next?" Dean asked.

"She…it…Kim tried to attack Lon but Ron wouldn't let her," Tara told us. "The two of them fought. Kim clawed Ron up yet he still managed to chop her into pieces. It was terrible! Even though she was lying in pieces, she kept threatening our children and us. Ron took charge of the situation and grilled Lon until the boy told him about the night's activities in the cistern. Realizing that it had held Kim for over twenty years, he entombed her in it again. Then he sat me down and I told him the whole story."

"Who all knows?" I asked.

"Ron, Lon and me," Tara told me. "I'm sure Wade suspects something but he isn't talking."

"What about Kim's parents and brothers?" Dean demanded.

"In the dark," Tara told us. "Ron doesn't talk to me very much any more but he told me to never tell them, tell anyone, what I did to Kim. He wants everyone to believe she's resting peacefully, after a quick death."

Dean snapped at her, "how could you do that to a friend?" That question had been burning inside my skull as well, ever since she told us what she had done. Of course, she went pale and her lips started to quiver.

"It's not important right now," I insisted. There would be time to deal with the whys after we dealt with the what.

"No," Tara interrupted. "Neither Ron nor Lon wanted to know why I did what I did. It's time I told somebody. It may sound stupid right now but I'm willing to bet that when you reach your mid-forties, some of the things you did in your teens will seem just as foolish."

"We don't have a very good chance of reaching our forties," Dean quipped, "but I never killed another human as a teen."

"Shut up!" I snarled. This took Dean a little aback. I didn't have time for Dean's attitude. Mrs. Stoppable's story might give me the vital information I needed to deal with whatever Kim Possible had become. "Go ahead, ma'am," I prompted our guest.

"Thank you," Tara nodded to me, with a hard glare at Dean. Dean glared back with equal ferocity.

The story she told us chilled even us, seasoned monster hunters. She told us how she'd invited her friend, Kim Possible, over to her house to look at the latest rendition of the 'cute stuffed animal' type of toy. She told us how she'd hidden an open container of Team Possible's knockout gas in the box that supposedly held the toys. When Kim opened the box and was incapacitated by the gas, Tara dragged the unconscious heroine into the abandoned cistern, chained her to a wall then sealed it shut. Finally, she told us how she planted false evidence that made it appear as if Kim had gone out to a local lake and vanished.

For several minutes, Dean and I just stared at her. Finally, Dean found his voice. "Okay, you just told us what you did," he said. "Now, tell us why you did it. Were you mad at her? Jealous? What?"

"It was for Ron!" Tara insisted.

"Killing his girlfriend, his lifelong friend, was for his benefit?" Dean said in disbelief. "If that's doing him a favor, I never want you looking out for me."

"Mrs. Stoppable," I interrupted. "You've explained how you did it but it really is important that you tell us why, it might help us deal with her more effectively."

"The two of you don't understand how Ron was back then," she told us, "everything he did, he did with every fiber of his being. He threw his whole heart into everything and that included Kim. Whenever something didn't work out for him, he became terribly depressed about it. For example, he opened a gourmet restaurant in our high school Home EC classroom. He was so crushed when the Health Department shut it down after a couple of days. He dated a girl named Zita for about a week, then went into a two week funk when it all fell apart, but those aren't the worst examples."

"The worst parts centered around Kim," Tara explained. "He did everything for her, including risking his life to help her on her missions. She was the absolute center of his world but she never seemed to appreciate his sacrifices. She would ditch him in an instant for a hot guy. I thought it was great when they finally got together but then I realized that it would eventually fall apart. Sooner are later, she would ditch him again and leave him so devastated that he would never pull out of it."

"Are you serious?" Dean said with contempt. "C'mon, do you really think he'd become some sort of lifelong basket case over a teen romance?"

"As a forty-something mother of three, no," Tara answered back. "But as an eighteen year old who owed him for saving my life from a sick mutant, yes. I told you that I can see, now, how foolish it all was but by the time I realized it back then, weeks had passed and I didn't know what to do. Eventually, I managed to kind of half-forget what I did."

"Conveniently leaving the guy vulnerable and desperate for some kind of anchor," I couldn't help but say, "an anchor that you were more than happy to provide. Seeing your home and family, I don't think you exactly suffered all these years."

She snarled back, "I honestly didn't care if I hooked up with him! I did it for him, not me! Ron's feelings for Kim were intense, much stronger than the typical teen romance but to Kim, he was the guy who was always there. I don't think she ever really…respected him and loved him for who he was. She valued his friendship and she appreciated him but I don't think she ever loved him."

Tara shook her head, as if clearing old memories, before continuing, "like I said, that was back when I was eighteen. It seemed so clear, so obvious to me. I just knew she was going to destroy him and that he would never see it coming! Warning him wouldn't do any good; he was completely devoted to her. Telling her off wouldn't do any good, she had him and she was happier than she'd ever been in her life." She concluded, with a heavy sigh. "Anyway, I know how absolutely stupid my reasoning was, believe me I know. Until this past Halloween, I hadn't realized she'd become…that thing. Now, I'm turning to you for help. I need to deal with her without drawing a great deal of attention."

"So her friends and family remain blissfully ignorant? Or so you can avoid prosecution?" Dean challenged.

"You can call the police or the FBI after you deal with her," Tara countered, her voice firm. "If you think that's best for her parents and brothers, fine. If you run to the police now, whatever happens to the poor cop who opens the cistern will be on your head."

Dean and I shared a long look. Tara Stoppable was right, telling everybody what she had done this long after the crime wouldn't accomplish anything. I'm no justice fanatic; one look at the way Dean and I fund our activities will tell you that. Still, the idea of letting her off scot-free burned my gullet.

"I don't care what happens to me anymore," Tara said, apparently correctly interpreting my expression. "Once Kim has been put to rest, what you do is up to you. I've already lost my husband and my oldest son, they won't even speak to me unless they absolutely must. I'm not going to risk Kim escaping again and possibly killing my children."

Dean stepped in, "okay, first things first. We need to pick out a time when we can deal with it…"

"Her!" Tara insisted.

"Okay, _her_," Dean rolled his eyes. "Here's something that might make this easier on you; start thinking of _her_ as a monster…as an _it_. It isn't a young woman anymore, it isn't a heroine anymore and _**it**_ isn't Kim Possible anymore. Now, it's a threat to be eliminated."

"_Fine_," Tara rolled her eyes in return. "What do I need to do so you can take care of _**IT**_?"

"Clear everyone out of the area," I told her. "If Kim manages to escape the cistern again, there will be whole lot of uncomfortable questions to answer. It's better if we do this as soon as possible."

"Ron chopped her to pieces. How can…"

"If she's a revenant, like I suspect," Dean interrupted, picking up Dad's journal and flipping through it, "her body, whole or otherwise, is anchoring her here."

"Salting and burning the remains is the best solution." He concluded as he snapped the journal shut. "Nailing her to her grave bed with a silver stake is another solution, but it presents some unique problems."

"It's going to fight us whatever we try," I added. "Which means the whole encounter is going to be noisy as hell."

Tara kept her eyes downcast while we discussed her former friend's final fate. When she finally looked up, the skin around her eyes tightened and her voice could have cut ice, "Ron will be gone next week. He's meeting someone in California and he won't tell me what it's about. I can probably arrange for my kids to be away from home overnight on Monday."

"What about the other neighbors?" Dean asked.

"We can pull something off," I assured him. "I can mimic a call from a utility company, make it sound like there's a gas leak or something like that. We can arrange for a temporary evacuation, which will give us the chance to deal with it."

"Do you really think that the authorities won't catch on?" Tara retorted. "We're not a major city like Denver but we aren't a bunch of ignorant hicks, either."

"We never said you were," Dean assured her in a tight voice. "We'll be able to fool the authorities for a short time and get the job done. After that, we'll probably have to steer clear of Middleton for a few years."

"So…this Monday?" Tara asked.

"We'll take care of everything," I said, hoping to reassure her.

Dean and I requested her cell number and worked out a couple of simple, coded phrases so she could let us know if it wasn't a good time to talk. After a short discussion, she took her leave. Dean stood up and looked out the window while I sat and stared at the carpet for several long minutes after she left.

"So, can we trust her?" I asked Dean.

"I think so," Dean replied, turning back from the window. "She's acting in her own self interest. She wants to get rid of a monster in her backyard and try to put her near-perfect life back together."

"It happened over twenty years ago," I pointed out. "Who knows, she may have been influenced.

That's another thing that makes dealing with the things that go bump in the night difficult; you don't always know if they've been there. Look, there's enough nastiness in humanity without any extra assistance yet sometimes evil things just insist on helping the process along. Take what Tara did to Kim; did she actually come up with this horrible plan on her own or did something plant the idea in her mind? Some of these influences are crafty and convince people they're doing the most horrid actions with the best intentions. Life would be much simpler if they would just hang an 'influenced by malevolent spirit' sign on their victims.

In the end, it really doesn't matter. Kim Possible is now some sort of revenant trapped in the Stoppable's cistern and we have to deal with it. Dean and I've been doing this long enough that we can almost hear each other think. We had a lot of preparation to do and only a few days to get it done. First, find out which utility company maintained the natural gas lines in the Stoppables' neighborhood. Second, hack into the company's servers and plant our credentials so we could make reports to law enforcement agencies. Third, appropriate a utility service vehicle or modify a similarly 'borrowed' vehicle to look like one. Fourth, stock up on the tools of our trade.

The next couple of days passed in a blur of activity. While Dean and I have the routine down, every town is different. Some Police Departments follow procedures more closely than others do and some utility companies have tighter security protocols than others. The bottom line is that it isn't always easy to fool people for their own good.

Still, by Monday we had records showing us employed by the utility company, the proper uniforms and IDs, and a pickup that looked pretty much like a utility company service vehicle. None of these items could withstand close scrutiny but we hoped we would be out of Middleton by the time anyone thought to verify our identities. We checked out of our room and arrived in the Stoppable's neighborhood at about 9:00 AM.

Ron was in California, Lon, Roy and Kim were at school so that left the neighbors. I hacked into the utility company's network and placed our names on the on-call list right as Tara called them to report that she could smell gas. The company immediately called and dispatched us to investigate the complaint. We waited a half-hour and called in to report that our instruments were picking up elevated gas levels. The utility company called the police and I slipped downstairs and released some propane from a tank. When the police officer arrived, we showed her our utility company Ids before leading her to the basement. The propane smell quickly convinced her and she asked us how she could help. We asked her to evacuate the homes bordering the Stoppable property and to block off the area. She complied, giving us the privacy we needed to deal with Kim.

We insisted that Tara leave with the other evacuees, both because it supported our cover story and because we didn't want her in the line of fire. Before she left she gave us the grand tour so we knew where everything was located. Time to hunt.

Once we had everyone out of the way, our first order of business was to fetch the same pulley and frame system Lon had opened the pit with, a few weeks earlier. Once our hoist was in place, we made sure we had a several molotov cocktails, a large container of rock salt, a couple gas cans and some matches handy. Trust me, in our line of work, forgetting the matches can get you killed. Finally, we scratched a circular slot in the ground around the cistern cover and filled it with rock salt. While we didn't have any evidence that a barrier of salt would contain the revenant, it couldn't hurt and salt's a hell of a lot cheaper than a thirty-foot silver chain. With the salt in place we chipped the mortar sealing the cistern.

Needless to say, this eliminated any possibility of catching our prey by surprise. While we've noticed that the weird critters we hunt tend to be very aware of their territory anyway, nothing says 'company's coming' quite like pounding on their front door for over an hour. Finally, we had the mortar chipped free and the cover's handles hooked to the pulley. We shared a look, took a deep breath, and hoisted the lid.

For a few, endless seconds, nothing happened. Dean and I started to entertain the hope that we could just dump some salt and gasoline into the cistern and drop a match. Suddenly, a bone-chilling shriek burst from the pit, followed by a hideous stench. Stunned and watery-eyed, we gawked like a couple of schoolboys at their first peep show as a skeletal…thing leapt from the hole and stood before us.

"Where is she?" It demanded. "Where's that murdering whore? I know you're here somewhere Tara! You can't stop me! Nothing can stop me! If you come out, now, I'll kill you before I kill your children! At least you won't see them die!"

"That's not going to happen," Dean growled, pointing his salt gun at her.

"And who are you?" The thing demanded, turning its head so the empty eye sockets pointed towards us.

"Our names aren't important," I told it. "What's important is that we're here to put an end to you. You can either accept the inevitable and go quietly, or fight us."

Did I really say that? I mean, honestly, it sounds like a something a science fiction hero would tell an evil overlord. Hunter Handbook lesson number one, never monologue during a fight. When facing monsters, hit hard, fast and often, preferably without any warning. Save the heroic banter for after you've got the job done. Dean flashed me a glare that said we were going to have a pointed discussion about my lapse let loose a double-barreled twelve-gauge worth of rock salt into the thing.

The salt seemed to hurt the creature, made it pause for a moment, but didn't inflict serious damage. That's another standard idiosyncrasy about dealing with assorted bogeymen, they don't react to wounds the way normal creatures do. If you're fighting a man and deliver a solid kick to his knee, he goes down and won't be able to use the leg very well. With revenants, such as Kim Possible had unfortunately become, it's all or nothing. They seem to feel pain but they don't lose their capabilities until you take them out of the fight…completely.

Fortunately, this little trivia tidbit took very little time to recall. Kim leapt at Dean before he could reload and unleashed a blow that sent my big brother sprawling backwards. I had just enough time to contemplate just how much trouble a combination of revenant strength and sixteen forms of kung-fu could be before she was looming over Dean, kicking the shotgun away and preparing to deliver the death blow.

Unluckily for her, this is exactly what we had been waiting for. I don't know what it is about the conversion from life to not-life, but those who take this dark journey seem to trade rationality and logic for rage and strength. Kim's attention was completely on Dean when I dashed up behind her, pulled the silver stake out of my jacket and pinned her foot to the ground.

Another interesting thing about dealing with bizarre creatures, most of them have odd vulnerabilities. With Kim's undead strength, she should have been able to break through the cistern's concrete cap long ago. However, the concrete had probably assumed a metaphysical barrier as well as a physical barrier. Because she was unable to escape the cistern in life, she couldn't leave it in death, either, unless someone opened it for her. We were hoping, actually betting our lives, that the silver stake would have a similar effect. Even though she was easily strong enough to pull out any stake that I jammed into the ground, she _**shouldn't**_ be unable to free herself.

It seemed to work. She screamed and tugged at the stake but couldn't pull free. Dean rolled clear and I backed off, out of her reach. While we seemed to have immobilized her, she was still making a racket, challenging our ability to explain things to the local authorities. Dean and I shared a look, regretting what we were about to do. We both pulled out a molotov cocktail and lit it.

"I don't know if you're still in there, Kim," I said to the creature, now safely indulging in a bit of monologuing. "I only hope that if you are, this will set you free."

Suddenly, something swatted the firebomb out of my hand. One hand grabbed me by the wrist, another by the elbow and hurled me towards my brother. Dean managed to dodge my sprawling body and I spun around just in time to see a hooded figure land a punch on his jaw that dropped my brother like a marionette with its strings cut. The figure pulled the hood back, revealing the face of…Ron Stoppable.

"I told you two to leave," he reminded us in a low, emotionless voice. "But I guessed you wouldn't listen. Now, you've found out something you should never have learned. I wish I didn't know, either."

"Then you know that we need to eliminate it," I protested.

"Her!" Ron growled back.

"Fine, her," I conceded. "You aren't doing her any favors by letting her exist like this, we have to set her free!"

"Set her free or destroy her?" Ron countered.

"She's already dead!"

"But she still exists!"

"Technically!"

"Ron?" Kim quit cursing my brother and I long enough to understand what was happening. "You've come back for me? You'll release me? I knew you wouldn't let Tara get away with it! We'll eliminate her and her children!"

"They're my children too, Kim," he murmured back.

"See?" I demanded, pointing at the skeletal creature. "This isn't Kim anymore! Kim would have never dreamed of harming your kids, no matter who their mother is!" Behind Ron, Dean was stirring; recovering from the blow Ron had delivered. I was determined to stall Ron long enough to give Dean a chance to pay him back.

"She'll never stop while your kids are still alive!" I told him. "It's your choice, either release her from that body or accept the fact that eventually, she'll break free again and destroy your kids, grandkids, or whatever descendants of yours happen to be around when she does!"

"That may be true," Ron growled menacingly, as Dean stood up, unseen, behind him. "But you'll have to destroy Kim over my dead body."

* * *

_A/N:_

_Those of you who are re-reading this story will notice some changes. After I posted this chapter my dear wife, Ciya, read it and came to the rightful conclusion that she couldn't trust me to post stories unsupervised. I must thank her for her beta efforts. I hope you enjoyed the alterations. For those of you reading the story for the first time, I hope you enjoy._

_For everyone, best wishes;_

_Daccu65_


	3. What is Evil?

Chapter 3: What is Evil?

In the years we have spent going up against the boogeyman, Dean and I have found ourselves in some odd situations. At this moment, we were in the weirdest circumstance I could've imagined. It looked kinda like a scene out of a spaghetti western; Dean and I were threatening the monster formerly known as Kim Possible while Ron was stepping in to protect her. Dean and I wanted to eliminate Kim without hurting Ron; Ron wanted to protect Kim from us while keeping her imprisoned and Kim just wanted to get by all of us so she could shred Tara and her children into tiny bits.

And I thought fourteenth century European political alliances were confusing.

As luck would have it, the ninja was still unaware of my brother's position behind him. But our luck, being of the Winchester flavor, meant that Dean's location was also in Kim's line of sight…so to speak. Would she shout a warning to her former boyfriend or would his reminder that Tara's children were also his cause her to let him be struck down?

It only took a moment to learn the answer to that question. Kim remained silent as Dean unleashed a sucker punch that dropped Ron like a sack of potatoes. Ron sprawled out, facedown and twitching feebly.

"Keep him down," Dean instructed me. "I'll take care of her." Dean recovered his firebomb while I planted a foot squarely between Ron's shoulder blades, pinning him to the ground. I only had a few moments to wonder how we were going to get out of the area after dealing with Kim. While we've had angry townsfolk, city officials and even monsters chase us before, an angry ninja on our butts promised to be a new yet unpleasant experience.

Dean stepped closer to Kim, staying just beyond the snarling monster's reach. He lit the rag and hurled the bottle at the ground beneath the former heroine. The bottle shattered, forming a pool of burning gasoline around Kim's bony feet. The shriek she emitted made all of her earlier yelling sound like quiet, melodious chanting. Dean and I could both that the single bottle of gasoline wouldn't be enough to reduce Kim to ash, so Dean turned from her and went to retrieve the five gallon gas can. Unfortunately for us, we didn't take into account the effect Kim's painful shriek would have on Ron.

Physically, I'm no slouch. Sure, I'm not up to Dean's level but I can hold my own against most men. I outweighed Ron by a good twenty pounds and he was still stunned from Dean's cheap shot. Ninja or no, there was no way he was going to get away from me before Dean finished incinerating Kim. My problem was that Ron had been fighting bad guys far longer than I have and had figured out my previous point before I had. Still prone, he produced some sort of exotic, chain-based weapon and lashed out.

Imagine my shock when he didn't try to hit either Dean or me, instead the chain looped around the stake holding Kim in the flames.

A quick yank pulled the stake free, releasing Kim from her captivity. It must somehow have been painful because she released a stream of invective that actually made me flinch even as I admired her imagination. Apparently, waiting for their next victim gives the undead a lot of time to think of new forms of torture. The moment Kim was free, even before she finished spewing her horrific threats, she lunged at Dean.

"Dean! She's free!" I screamed, releasing Ron so I could run to my brother's aid. Dean spun around just in time to come eyeball to eye socket with one very irritated and still smoldering undead. Kim didn't hesitate, she simply sent him sprawling again with another blow. I tackled Kim from behind.

I don't really understand why I did what I did next. I wrapped an arm around her throat and choked her for all I was worth. I mean, she's dead, she didn't need air, so choking her really didn't accomplish anything other than keep her from screaming her horrific, yet imaginative, threats. In my infinite wisdom, I had failed to secure any weaponry before jumping on top of her. I tried hitting her, but that didn't do anything. In the end I wound up using some wrestling moves, just trying to hold her immobile until Dean could get back into the fight. Despite my best efforts, Kim got to her feet with me still on her back. She reached behind her back and threw me over her head with about as much effort as I use to take off a tee shirt.

Kim slammed me to the ground, driving the air out of my lungs with a massive whoosh. I couldn't breathe or move as she loomed over me, drawing back her foot for a kick that was certain to cave in my ribcage. She didn't get a chance as Dean emptied his clip into her back. While the silver bullets didn't seem to affect her much, they did distract her from me.

I strongly approved of that. While I don't have great hopes of living to a ripe, old age, I prefer to keep the option open.

Kim turned away from me, to my great relief and faced Dean, which probably wasn't a major relief for him. Dean leapt forward, lashing out with his fists. I don't know if Kim was arrogant or stunned, she just let Dean land his punches. She's a member of the undead but she still has to obey the laws of physics; Dean's punches knocked her to the ground. I don't know when Dean managed to pick up the spike I'd pinned Kim with earlier, but he had it in his hand. He prepared to stab Kim with it, only to have her sweep both of his feet out from under him.

I was still winded and struggling to my feet as Kim performed the classic back spring to regain her feet. Dean struggled to his and lashed out with a crowbar. This time, Kim didn't simply accept the blow. She shifted slightly, catching the tool and spinning inside the arc of Dean's blow. Dean didn't release the implement in time and wound up face-down in the grass again. I was horrified for a moment that she would cave in Dean's skull with the crowbar but she was more interested in revenge than taking us out.

"Okay boy," she snarled, dropping the tool and catching Dean by the throat. "You think you're some kind of great monster hunter but I was taking out the bad guys long before you knew what a bad guy was. You like fire? Let's see how much!" With that, she started to half-drag, half-carry Dean towards the still burning patch in the yard. By now, I was on my feet again and ready to get back into the fight. I rushed forward and drove a shoulder into the backs of Kim's knees.

"Oh, you want some more?" Kim shrieked, tumbling forwards with a series of somersaults that turned into flips. "I took my lumps against Shego and Monkeyfist! You think you can match them?"

I had a moment to hope that agile, athletic and skilled revenants never became the norm before she was back on top of me. She unleashed a series of kicks and punches that I could barely dodge. I blocked a couple and the force of the blows told me that I would be seriously hurt if any of them landed.

Moving faster than I could believe, she got inside my guard, grabbed the front of my shirt, twirled and crouched, flipping me over her head both efficiently and brutally. For the second time in less that five minutes, the air vacated my lungs.

"Back to you," she snarled at Dean, leaving me while she went back to whom she must have considered her chief tormentor. This time she simply grabbed Dean by an ankle and started to drag him towards the flames. "I don't know what the so-called heroes are learning these days but in my day I learned really quick that the bad guys hit back. I guess you think I'm the bad guy now but I'm really not! I'm just paying back the favor you decided to pay me, just like I'm going to do to Tara. Remember that, boy! You decided to bring fire into this, so it's fire you're going to get out of it."

I was still dazed from my collision with the ground, so there was no way I was going to be able to keep her from throwing Dean into the fire. Dean had figured this out as well and was struggling ineffectively, trying to kick his ankle out of her grip when she suddenly stopped.

"No Kim," Ron said with a firm voice, blocking her path to the flames. "I won't let you kill him."

"Now you think you're the hero?" She snarled back, "I could understand you sticking up for Tara's brats, they're yours as well. Why these two?"

"I won't let you kill them," he repeated.

"Why Ron?" She shrieked. "They started this! They let me out so that they could destroy me! Aren't I supposed to be able to fight back? Tara killed me and had the family **I** should have had but you wouldn't let me have justice! Now they try to destroy me and you won't let me strike back! What did I do to make you side with everybody over me?"

"I'm not, Kim," Ron insisted, although his voice sounded unsure. "You were never about killing and maiming. I won't let you change now."

"Dying changes your attitude…Ronnie," she snarled back. "I'm not the good little girl that got killed by one of her friends anymore. Now get out of my way or you'll just be one of the ones I have to take out."

"It's your choice Kim," Ron said, suddenly holding a blue, glowing sword in front of him.

"It was your choice…boyfriend," she snapped back. "You're the one who humped that hussy and made those brats. You're the one who put yourself between these two and me. Let's finish this!"

Kim released Dean's ankle and leapt at Ron. Ron dodged to one side and slashed at her. Kim ducked the strike and spun, extending a leg. Ron leapt lightly over the sweeping leg and somersaulted backwards. The two combatants soon closed with each other again, forming a blur of flailing limbs and steel. I stumbled to my feet and lurched over to check on my brother.

Dean's bell had been rung but he was still moving. I helped him to sit up so that he could see the fight raging scant feet away. Ron had taken on a blue tint again and he was slowly getting the better of his onetime girlfriend. Kim, however, wasn't slowing. As an undead, she could lose limbs without permanent injury. The issue was still very much in doubt as Kim could land a single, solid shot and eliminate Ron. Ron had to inflict dozens of cuts to take Kim out of the fight.

"What do we do?" I asked Dean.

"If she wins, she's gonna kill us then go after Tara and the kids," Dean gasped, still trying to get his bearings. "If he wins, he's gonna kick our butts then run us out of town."

"That's sort of the way I see it."

"Not much of a chance of them taking each other out of the game, is there?"

"I don't think so," I admitted.

"Okay, let's see if we can help Ron out."

This made sense to me, so we quickly cased around the back yard for something to use to help Ron. We recovered the crowbar and found a length of chain in Ron's tool shed. With these, we sought to tip the fight's balance.

By the time we got back to the duel, Ron was sporting a bloody slash on his left shoulder. While he was a long way from incapacitated, he clearly didn't have full use of that limb. In the meantime, he had managed to sever one of Kim's wrists and one of her ankles. She was now scrambling about like some hideous spider, occasionally springing up to claw at her former soulmate. Dean took a deep breath and charged in behind Kim, using the crowbar to smash the back of one of her legs. While this blow didn't really harm her, it knocked her off balance long enough for Ron to hack through one of her elbows. I followed up by swinging the chain, entangling her.

"So, you've all decided to team up on the freak?" She shrieked. "That's fine, you can't win. No matter what, I'll kill you all!"

We still took some shots but with Dean and I backing Ron, Kim was at a severe disadvantage. Every time she tried to strike at Ron, either Dean or I would take a shot at her back. While what we did to her didn't seem to cause any real damage, we managed to entangle, slow and distract her. Finally, we reduced her to a mass of twitching body parts.

"Let's take her back to the cistern," Ron said in an emotionless voice, although tears rolled down his face.

"No, burn her," Dean demanded, "set her free. If we seal her back up, we'll have to do this all over again."

"Like I said before," Ron growled, tightening his grip on his blade. "You'll destroy her over my dead body. I know what I'm doing. Are you going to help me or not?"

For what felt like forever, Dean and Ron locked glares. While I was ready to back Dean, I didn't relish the thought of taking on Ron. Finally, Ron broke the tension.

"We'll get the two of you out of here," he told us. "Then we can talk. She'll reform before long and I don't want to have to tear her apart all over again."

Dean was convinced, at least enough for a short reprieve. We helped Ron dump Kim's remains into the pit, return the lid and seal everything with a thick layer of mortar. Ron called Wade and I don't know what sort of story the genius fed to the authorities to get us out of the neighborhood. Dean and I followed Ron's instructions, recovered the Impala and drove to the City of Lowerton. We checked into the rooms Wade had reserved for us and got cleaned up. Ron arrived later that evening.

"You aren't doing her any favors," Dean told the blonde, middle-aged man. "It might hurt her when we burn her but it has to be better than years in the cistern."

"You don't know everything," Ron countered. "I was able to call in some favors from some very knowledgeable people."

"Like who?" Dean demanded. "We've been doing this a long time. Between our father and us, we've been at this for more than twenty years. Who knows more than we do?"

"Vatican representatives," Ron replied. "And some other religious and scientific organizations that I'm not about to tell you about. I know the only way to eliminate her is to burn her. That's no big revelation, you knew it as well. What you might not know is what happens to her after you incinerate her."

"She moves on," I interrupted. "She meets whatever fate's in store for her."

"Not exactly," Ron answered me. "Do you guys believe that you have souls, that something lives on after you pass away?"

"Yes," we both answered. It may sound corny, but facing the evil things has done a great deal to convince me that heaven must exist.

"Okay, what you may not know is when you incinerate a creature, like what Kim has become, you annihilate the soul as well. That's why I won't burn her, I won't doom her to nothingness."

"So what will you do?" I asked. "What hope is there? The only way she's leaving this world is by burning. It's either nothingness now or more torment followed by nothingness."

"There is hope," Ron told us, "the one thing that these sources told me is that she's being fueled by her desire for revenge, a perverted sense of justice. If she can let that go, give up what's kept her from moving on in the first place, she can move on."

"Will you risk your life," Dean asked. "Will you risk your children and grandchildren? Even if what you're telling us is true, what happens if she breaks free in the meantime? Will you risk it?"

Ron looked down at the floor for several, long minutes.

"Yes, I will," he finally said, looking back at us. "God help me, but I will. I have to balance my life, my children's lives, against Kim's immortal soul. Maybe I'm being selfish and foolish but I won't condemn her to annihilation. I always had a sunny disposition when I was younger and I guess this is a byproduct. I have the optimism, the faith in Kim , to believe she'll find her way out of where she is."

"I guess that's your decision," Dean grumbled. "I hope it doesn't come back to bite your ass."

"It's my ass to get bitten," Ron countered. "I really have to wonder about the two of you. How many souls have you destroyed, in your own quest for revenge? How many will never have the chance to find their own redemption?"

Neither Dean nor I had an answer. We could just sit there as he walked towards the door.

"You have this room for the night," Ron announced. "And Wade has fed the authorities some story that I don't even want to know about. I will say this, I want you to leave and never come back to my little corner of the world. I've dedicated myself to defending my children from Kim but I've also dedicated myself to defending Kim from people like you. If you come back here again, while I still draw breath, things are going to be very unpleasant."

With that, Ron left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

We never saw him again.

For a long time, Dean and I just looked at each other. It wasn't the fact that we had received a threat. Trust me, we've received so many over the years that they don't really have much of an effect anymore. No, what bothered me was, for the first time ever, I found myself questioning what we really accomplished.

What is evil?

-Is evil an undead creature, trapped in an abandoned cistern, waiting to break out and take away what her murderer gained by killing her?

-Is evil a man willing to risk his children's lives, for the sake of his teenage sweetheart's immortal soul?

-Is evil a middle-aged woman who once killed a girl and now keeps it secret, hoping the girl's parents can have the happiest ending they possibly can?

Is evil two men traveling the country, striking down malevolent, unnatural things without thinking about what they are doing?

-Is evil a man who became so infatuated with his wife's murderer that he all but abandoned his two sons to pursue it? Did the good he accomplished by hunting for the demon make up for neglecting his fatherly duties?

"I know what you're thinking, Sam." Dean interrupted my thoughts. "You're wondering if we're actually doing any good with what we're doing. Trust me, I asked dad the same thing a couple of times when you were still at Stanford."

"What did he say?"

"He told me that some people are philosophers and statesmen. These people plan and debate the consequences of their actions. We aren't those sorts of people. Beat cops, soldiers, really anybody who faces the bad guys can't take the time to debate the right and wrong. We can only do what we can, fight the evil that we find and hope that we're doing the right thing."

"Dad said that?" I asked. "I'd think he'd be more likely to say 'shut up and quit your sniveling.'"

"Oh, I got plenty of that," Dean chuckled. "Every time I wondered why he never taught me how to hit a breaking ball or tie a fishing line. Finally, after he was pretty sure I was following him in the trade, he opened up more. Sammy, as corny as it sounds we're champions for humanity. We've taken it on ourselves to jump in and do something when almost everyone else would pretend that it never actually happened. Ron's a champion of a different sort and the really lousy thing is that we're working at cross-purposes right now. It's sad, 'cause I think we could be really good friends with him under different circumstances; kind of like soldiers on opposite sides in a battle."

"So what do we do now?"

"We get a good night's sleep and clear out of Colorado. I don't think we'll be coming back to these parts, at least not for a good, long time."

"I don't like getting run off like this," I admitted.

"We're not getting run off," Dean insisted. "This is Ron's turf and we're leaving him to it. I think it's time to head back to the roadhouse, or maybe Bobby's place and see if we can get back on ol' yellow-eye's trail."

"But what about Kim?"

"Kim, or whatever she has become, is now Ron's responsibility. He's taken the task upon himself, much like we've taken our task upon ourselves. He's both her jailer and her guardian. I only hope that, someday, he gets the ending he's fighting for."

Epilogue:

Sam Winchester turned off his computer and stood up. It had been years since he and Dean had last stayed in the Middleton Motor Lodge, so reviewing his thoughts from that earlier time was a good idea. Glancing at his watch, he realized that it was time to go. Dean stepped out of the bathroom, wearing his best (and only) suit, clearly thinking the same thing.

They didn't share a single word as they climbed into the old Impala. They had already mapped out the route they would take. Soon, the Impala carried them to Middleton's Mountain View Cemetery, just before the hearse arrived. The sky, which had been overcast and rainy for most of the morning was now clear so they climbed out of the vehicle and stood respectfully as six pallbearers carried the mortal remains of Ronald Dean Stoppable to his final resting place.

While the Winchester brothers had had their differences with the older man, they had always respected him. For this reason, when the aging Wade Lode contacted them last week, they had made the trip. Even though they didn't attend the church services, even though they didn't join his friends and family, they still watched, silently, as his casket was lowered into the earth. Both men sighed as, after the graveside ceremony, Lon Stoppable turned his back on his mother and stalked off without a word.

At least Tara could count on the companionship offered by her daughter, Kim, and her son-in-law, Ron. Their oldest child, Ron Junior, would return to Japan, where he was attending some sort of school, in the morning. The ceremony complete, Sam and Dean turned to leave, only to find themselves facing Roy Stoppable. For several minutes, the brothers stared at Ron's second son until Dean broke the silence.

"We were only paying our respects," the older of the brothers told the younger man. "We don't want anything to turn unpleasant."

"There's plenty of unpleasantness without us causing any more," Roy agreed. "I just wanted you to know that I appreciate your being here. You're more than welcome to join us. His friends, family and…other acquaintances…are gathering at mom's home for a meal and memories."

"Except for Lon," Sam pointed out.

"Lon hasn't forgiven mom," Roy answered, "it took me awhile but I've managed to remain civil."

"So I take it you know everything," Dean prompted.

"Everything," Roy confirmed. "Dad made sure I was ready to take up his duties. I thought I'd make sure you knew that. If you try to open up the old cistern, things will turn unpleasant between us."

"Fair enough," Sam nodded. "If you don't mind me asking, just how much of your old man's talents have you picked up. I mean, if something unpleasant was to…climb out…could you handle it?"

"Oh, I think I'll get by."

For just a second, Sam and Dean swore that Roy's umbrella, which he was holding point down in front of him, took on a blue glow.

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_A/N:_

_After I posted this story my dear wife, Ciya, took a look and came to the conclusion that I souldn't post without proper, adult supervision. Those of you re-reading this will probably note that it is slightly different, and better, than my first revision. I would like to thank Ciya both for beta-ing the story and for putting up with me for so long._

_Until my next posting, best wishes everyone;_

_daccu65_

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